Love, The Expression Of
by TheLittlestChocobo
Summary: Penelo reflects on the results of a drunken night at the Sandsea. Oneshot. Basch/Penelo


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Thanks for Reading! Although I've been writing for awhile, this is my first real fan fiction, so reviews and constructive criticism would be extremely helpful! Please enjoy this short piece!

-TheLittlestChocobo

Basch was still thin from his time in Nalbina. His chest rose and fell with his deep, sleeping breaths. Penelo examined his exposed torso, the sinewy muscles across his shoulders and chest, the caved stomached clawed out by two years' hunger, the worn, tanned skin laced with fine scars and glistening with the thin film of sticky sweat in the hot room. Finally, his stoic face, which betrayed little even in sleep, the jagged scar that, in Penelo's opinion, made him more enticing, and the mussed, blond hair that framed it all. The man she had probably lost.

Penelo pulled the sheet back from her own body and slipped out of the bed with the silent dancer's grace few but she possessed. She suppressed a groan and steadied her dizzy legs in the hung-over haze she suspected the others did possess, if Vaan's loud grumbling from the next room was any indication. She clothed herself quickly. Her clothes stank sweetly of sweat, with the smell of the exotic and strong booze a spicy undertone. Penelo sat on a chair across the room facing the still sleeping captain.

She pulled her hair out of her tangled, ruined braids with delicate, deliberate fingers.

It was funny, really, how it all happened. It wasn't quite what she'd imagined. It wasn't that she was a stranger to such things; living on the streets had a way of educating orphans. No. But after yearning for him for so long… was what she felt disappointment?

The first time she met Basch was after she was rescued from Bhujerba. Ever since then, even since she had seen him fight and seen him laugh, seen the knight and the man, Penelo was entranced. He had been a willing mentor to her. He taught her how to fight. Everything from swords to staffs to how to throw a punch. He explained to her politics and histories, in which she was only interested with him as professor. When he finally bought a broadax, swinging it with grinning avarice, it was to her that he bestowed his worn in katana, and it was he that taught her how to hold it, when to swing and when to stab, how to bend and flow with the weapon in that deadly dance. She'd taught him, too. How to relax and smile, how to catch someone lying, how to joke with a desert urchin. And somewhere between the secondhand magic lessons, the campfire reflecting in his eyes, and the time she'd gotten him out of his clumsy soldier's boots and danced with him, Penelo was smitten. She had grown to admire the knight and warrior he was, amazed at his intense loyalty and determination. She had grown in affection for the man he was when they camped for the night, when the plans had already been made, when the weapons were cleaned and set aside, when they all sat around the fire and ate and joked. But then again, maybe it really was just firelight she'd seen in his eyes.

She could never tell him. It was the commitment to his duty, the loyalty Penelo so admired, that she knew would prevent any relationship between them. That and her age. Her class. Her ignorance, and a certain stately princess. So Penelo contented herself with being his student, his comrade, his friend. It was not defeat, it was acceptance. And she was happy, stealing glances as they walked, relishing every delicious touch, however platonic. Of course he did not feel the same way for her.

Now she didn't know what to think.

She began to comb her fingers slowly through her blonde hair, trying to coerce the knots to fall into line with the rest of the waves.

Last night had been hot and sweet. The group had just defeated their latest hunt, a harrowing effort that left them exhausted but proud. They had yet to collect their bounty, but night had descended quickly, and the group decided to stay at the Sandsea for the night. They were already soaring, elated at their success, and that was before they had ordered a round of drinks. But a round of tavern ale wasn't exactly the sky pirate's style. Balthier had spirited a dash of something-Penelo forgot what he had called it-into his drink. He had taken a swig and noticed Vaan staring at him.

"I want some, too!" Vaan had declared, not to be outdone by his role model.

"It's a good deal stronger than anything you would have had, I'm afraid. Giving this to you would be irresponsible, even by my standards," Balthier had replied, staring over the rim of his glass at the younger man. Vaan had protested, naturally, and, naturally, it was a deal louder than the other Sandsea patrons would have preferred. Penelo noticed the stares their way.

"Shut it, Vaan! Everyone's staring!" She'd protested, which didn't deter him in the slightest. Finally, Balthier relented.

"You better be able to hold your liquor, Vaan. I'm not going to clean up after you if you can't," He said reproachfully as he handed him the flask. "Gods, Vaan! Go easy!" He had cried almost immediately as Vaan attempted to tip half the flask into his drink.

"Vaan, pass that over here," Basch said from across the table, "it's been awhile since I've had something strong." That was how it had begun. Despite Basch's skeptical look, or perhaps because of it, Penelo had poured the liquid into her own drink. It made the surface of the ale swim with oily colors, and had a faintly fiery odor. Penelo wasn't quite so sure anymore, but she would _not_ look like a little girl in front of Basch. To everyone's surprise, Ashe had dropped her royal demeanor long enough to indulge in the drink herself. Fran had turned up her nose.

"To The _Strahl_!" Vaan proclaimed, raising his glass. Fran raised hers with a sniff and the hint of an amused smile.

"To Dalmasca!" Ashe declared, ever the Patriot.

"To Raithwall," Basch followed, ever the loyalist.

"To Captain Basch!" Penelo offered. She had kept her eyes forward, but she could see Basch, sitting oh so close to her, turn his head to her in surprise. There was a moment of silence that had sent a thread of panic into Penelo's gut. Maybe her toast had been more conspicuous than she'd hoped. She sent a pleading look towards Balthier, who smirked as she squirmed. The pirate raised his own glass with an air of cool cockiness.

"To booze," he offered simply, his grin widening. With every glass in the air the party had drunk deeply. They had laughed and were merry, each in his own way. Penelo had gotten up to dance to the music and Vaan followed. The others stayed behind. Balthier had continued to talk to Fran, the alcohol having little effect on him. Ashe surrendered what was left of her stateliness and got up to dance, too. Basch watched. Watched Vaan take Ashe clumsily by the hand and wheel her around, and her uncharacteristic giggle. But mostly he watched Penelo. Because the drink had made him forget her age. Made him forget the duties that yoked his shoulders. Made him forget how inappropriate it was to lie with a comrade. No, the drink had let him see nothing but Penelo, the way her hips moved, the still graceful swinging of her body, the glistening sheen of her skin in the firelight. The fire slipping down his throat set the rest of him on fire, and the burning girl was all he could see. Dignity gone, Basch stared. And when Penelo had realized that the drink was too much for her, when she had returned to her seat next to the inebriated captain, he was maddened by her.

Penelo's memory of the night grew hazy as the drink held her more firmly. She knew there had been a proposition, and she knew she had agreed. How could she have rejected him, the man she dreamed about? The man she admired from afar, the man who wanted her now? What better way to get close to him, to show him her affection?

Penelo began braiding her now detangled hair. The act of pulling the hair, so familiar, so intimate, calmed her. She took a deep breath and steadied her hands as she wove.

Of course, now that morning and its headache were here, Penelo knew her mistake. She could see now that Basch would not have ever done such a thing sober. He would be ashamed, like she was. He would be apologetic. He was such a gentleman, he would so vehemently try to make it up to her. And every time he looked at her he wouldn't see the way she could love him, the way they could be together. He wouldn't even see the desert urchin he could give fatherly guidance to. He would be haunted by his regrets, his guilt. That's what he'd see in her.

Penelo tied off her braids and put her hands into her lap. She looked at Basch, still peaceful in sleep. She dreaded seeing him awake, but at least he looked serene now. She rose from the chair and drifted over to the bedside. Light as her breath, she brushed a kiss against his weathered cheek. She couldn't bear to see him anymore. She turned and left.

Down on the bottom floor of the Sandsea, the others were preparing to leave. Or rather, Fran and Balthier were preparing to leave. Ashe was attempting to mask her gripping nausea with a dignified air, which served mostly to make her look wilted. Vaan was stretched out in a chair, his right eye blackened and his upper lip swollen and split. Penelo sat next to him and accepted gladly the water Fran silently handed her. She looked around at the bunch, finally resting on Vaan.

"What happened to you last night?" She ventured. Balthier laughed. Ashe huffed and glared at him, while still looking about to vomit. Vaan groaned.

"Let's not talk about it," he said. Penelo took another sip of water.

"Agreed," she said.


End file.
